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There is a certain amount of training that goes into a D/s relationship. Learning your Master’s rules. His expectations. Learning to obey. Learning to give Him everything…the good, the bad, the ugly and the part of you that’s been hidden away for so long. It’s a process.

And for the headstrong submissive, it can be a bit challenging at times.

I find it most challenging to give M everything. I only want to give Him the good, the shiny, the polished, the organized part of myself. I try to pretend that the forgetful, ADD, scattered, emotional, overwhelmed person doesn’t exist. And then he sees the inside of my car, and that perfect, shiny illusion is shattered in a matter of seconds.

My life is full of responsibilities and sometimes I get so wrapped up in the “have-to’s” that I forget all of the “want-to’s” in my head. I think we all do that to an extent. I find myself so focused on the to-do list, that I sometimes forget that my number one responsibility is to be His. To give Him all of it, all of me. And if I do this, He will take my burdens away. Lucky for me, M is patient. He understands my reluctance and He gives me the time I need to turn over more and more to His capable hands.

This is all part of my training. At times, I do forget that I need to be trained. I am naturally submissive to Him, and I feel that I should innately know how to serve M best. And in some ways, this is true. But He is in charge and looking back, I see subtle ways that He has trained me.

When we walk into a store, a restaurant…or anywhere, I stand on his right side, slightly behind his shoulder and he takes my hand and leads me in to where we are going. There’s a feeling of safety. A feeling of protection. I like it.

When we go to a restaurant, He usually orders for me. He knows what I like and He will ask, “What sounds good to you tonight?” And if I say more than one item, he will choose which entree to order and that’s that. He never gets it wrong, he knows me so well. And on a side note…He will, at His discretion, order me a drink from the bar. Sometimes I think the man is just trying to get me drunk to have His way with me….but He has his way with me anytime, anyway, without the drinks.

He has trained me to have an almost Pavlovian response to certain phrases.

“Assume the position.” (This means on the bed I am to be on my knees, presenting myself for His use, close enough to His cock to pleasure and worship Him and within His nimble reach.) These words cause an immediate physical reaction that changes the humidity in a few seconds. In crass terms, these words make me soaking wet.

“That’s my good girl.” (M says this at different intervals, but almost always praises me when I cum for Him. When he sees I’ve let go and shed every layer of skin….torn down every wall and revealed myself to Him.) These words evoke a multitude of emotions. It makes me feel proud that He is pleased with me. It makes me feel small and submissive. It makes me want to be His very bad “good girl.”

“Cum for me” (I love the way these words sound whispered in my ear. The feel of his breathy voice is an automatic turn-on. And to be quite frank, these words…His command…produces almost immediate results. He has trained me so thoroughly, that I will cum on command and let go with abandon.

“Suck my cock, little slut” (Holy mother of Don Draper, those words….those words flip a switch in my brain that turns me into a voracious slave, eager to savor every inch of Him.)

I think it’s fascinating how mere words can produce such a response. I love that He has such control over me. That He can elicit such intense reactions from simple phrases. I often fantasize that we are in a public place where he leans over and whispers one of these catchphrases in my ear and I immediately begin to salivate from my head to my toes. I turn into a shameless mess of a woman, my only goal to pleasure Him and serve Him.

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Sometimes, life gets in the way. The desire is there. The passion is there. But so are the kids. The bills. The housework. The jobs.

And waiting in the corner…staring at me smugly is that ever-growing bastard…the laundry.

So what’s a couple to do with limited time on their hands? This is an age-old question and I bet if you Google it, I am sure you will find several versions of the same Ladies Home Journal article, along with multiple Cosmopolitan articles about how to keep the fires hot. There may be some valuable advice in there about making time…about connecting…about reverse-cowgirling your lover like Seabiscuit till you both win the race.

But let me ask this….what’s a kinky couple to do with limited time on their hands? A couple who pushes limits. A couple who teeters towards edge play. A couple whose marathon scenes have been known to go on for days. How do they find the time to-do-that-thing-they-do?

For M and I, we have always somehow found a way, and the only rule (which is more like an anti-rule) is “anytime, anywhere and any way we can get away with it.”

But a little while back, we were struggling to find a way. It had been a couple of weeks since we’d engaged in anything sexual. I’d been dealing with putting my father on hospice and we’d both been busy getting the kids settled in school. There was little to no time for anything other than kids/parents, bills, meals and everything else that demanded our attention.

But one night lying in bed as I was about to fall into a deep coma from exhaustion, I felt his breath in my ear.

“Assume the position, my little slut.” I could feel his hand clasp my throat and I quickly rose to my knees and faced him. He stroked my hair and face. I was immediately awake and at attention. He pulled me to his lips and kissed me as if it were our first kiss. Long and passionate and purposeful. I could feel his hand between my thighs searching for his perfect spot. Within minutes I was a puddle of a mess. He kissed me again.

And then he said, “Go get a towel.” I am glad thought of that. My M definitely knows best.

For hours we worshipped each other’s bodies. It was a session of pure, uninhibited play. I don’t know when, if ever, I’ve had orgasms like that. They were so fast…one after another…after another…after another. The towel was soaked from his handiwork. We barely came up for air…each of us pleasuring the other. I loved that his hips came off the bed as he plunged himself deeply in my mouth, clutching my long hair in his hands as he unloaded himself down my throat. Neither of us could get enough. It was as if we made up for lost time, many times over.

My journey to subspace was swift and beautiful. I was able to find the peace I so badly needed. I let go of all that was vying for a place in my thoughts, and realized that my only real need is to serve M. If I do this. If I give Him my everything, he will lighten my burden. He will ease my mind.

And he will fuck the ever-living shit out of me at a moment’s notice. DAMN…..

When we finally passed out, sated and exhausted, it was almost 4:00 in the morning. I was up early for work the next day. Rejuvenated. Refreshed.

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This won’t be a sexy, metaphorically-laden clever post. Folks, this is where the sh*t gets real.

We are approaching 4 months since M’s arrival. For the number people (I happen to be one) That’s 120 days. That’s 2880 hours. That’s one third of a year.

And the veneer has worn off.

Yes, we have farted in front of each other. He has seen me at my best and my worst. He sees the in between. He sees through my bullshit. And occasionally, I feel a tinge of panic…because there’s nowhere for me to hide. He will reveal me

. He has seen me swell with pride as my oldest graduated from high school, with honors. He was there when my 7 year old had his art show. And my 2 year old runs to him first when we both arrive at daycare to pick her up. I am His. He is mine. And the kids are morphing into ours. We are a family. A happy family.

He is here when I fall apart…I lost my job of 6 years due to a major shift in budget. He was here to help pick me up, reassuring me that all would work out. Reminding me that we will be fine.

He is by my side as I watch my father’s health deteriorate. We put him on hospice this week. It was one of the hardest things I’ve had to face. And I am not alone in the journey…he is here. Leading me as my protector.

And in the midst of this chaos, he is my strength. He helps me unpack the years of baggage I carry with me. My burden is lighter because he works me through my issues. (I sometimes feel like he needs to bill me for a copay)

This is the beauty of a strong relationship. This is the epitome of D/s. It’s not the kink. It’s not the scenes. (Those are wonderful and have their purpose.) But this where we go deeper. This is where I give all to my M and he gives me sanctuary. This is where we grow. We have a long way to go, but I will say that we walk the road together. And when I want to run and hide…when I want to forge ahead, or lag behind….he reminds me of who I am.